Fourteen Valentine's Kisses
by Pugglemuggle
Summary: ...and one that didn't quite make it. A compilation of fifteen short stories, each one focused on a different pairing. A new chapter will be uploaded couple days until the end of this month.
1. Tradition

_A/N: This fanfiction will be split up into 15 short sections/chapters. Each section/chapter will be focused on a different pairing. I will upload one chapter every day between now and February 14th, with one extra one being uploaded on the 15th. I do not own Hetalia or any of these characters. Pairings include (but are not limited to): PruHun, GerIta, Spamano, Ameripan, DenNor, TurGre, FrUK, CanUkr, and RoChu. Please review!_

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**Chapter 1: Tradition**

This year, he and Elizabeta had decided to go traditional.

He'd gotten her roses, just like every guy is supposed to. Then, in the evening, they got all dressed up and went out to a nice restaurant; he took the bill, like a proper gentleman. When they were finished, they walked a couple blocks down chilly February streets to the cinema where they bought tickets for a gushy new movie. It was perfect. Romantic. Traditional.

Well, almost.

The roses he bought her weren't exactly roses: they were chocolates that looked like roses. Actually, he took that back, too; they didn't really look like roses, either. They were a baggie of Reese's Pieces that were pink, white, and red instead of the normal colors, and they had a picture of some roses printed onto the package. He figured it was close enough.

And they hadn't really gone out to a nice restaurant, either. After all, most people probably _wouldn't _consider Buffalo Wild Wings to be a nice restaurant, or a flannel shirt and skinny jeans to be "dressing up". But there'd been a football game on between Germany and Netherlands and he'd really, really wanted to see how it went down, so they'd decided to scrap the whole fancy schmancy restaurant thing and pound some hotwings instead. As per usual, she beat him during their customary how-many-wings-can-you-stuff-down-your-throat-in-3-minutes challenge. He scored 8. 'Liza scored 13. When the three minutes were up, she'd grinned at him with a look of triumph in her eyes, her face covered in bright red wing sauce, still chewing a bit of the last wing she'd shoved into her mouth. After they'd finished off their wings and their beers, Gilbert took the bill, but not because he was a gentleman. Since Germany lost the game, he'd been forced into paying. Except he'd "forgotten" to add cash to his wallet, so they ended up doing halfsies anyway.

By the time they arrived at the theater after their "chilly" walk (a.k.a. cold as fuck), the movie had already started, but they flashed the lady behind the glass their membership cards and were waved right on through. She probably even recognized them, what with them being such frequent visitors.

So, even though the roses weren't real, and the dinner wasn't fancy, the movie they were seeing now _was_ gushy, very gushy, in fact. Lots of red and hearts and… zombies.

Because, since neither of them could stand cheesy romantic comedies, they were seeing Zombie Combat 4.

And this didn't bother him at all, because he was a man, and men were just fine with guns and shooting and blood and decaying flesh and the living dead and being cornered in dark rooms the screams of people getting eaten alive by their best friends and—

He was a strong, tough, manly man, and he could handle this. Elizabeta would be the one in need of comfort, and he could totally give it to her. See? The movie was over twenty minutes in, and he was doing just fine. The first zombie had already come on screen, and the horny teenaged cast had already locked themselves inside the abandoned shopping mall. He hadn't even flinched once—

He jumped as a zombie lurched out from behind a food stall and started attacking the group. Dammit! He jinxed it. Well, at least he noticed Elizabeta had twitched a bit too. So, they were still even-steven. He wasn't actually scared, not really; the zombie had just surprised him. Anyone would start a little if something leapt out like that.

He managed to go another twenty minutes or so without any major balking, but this possibly could have been assisted by the fact that a good ten minutes of that time was filled by an awkward impromptu sex scene. Then again, pretty much the second it was finished, the couple's zombie-afied friend pounced out of the shadows and started biting the blonde chick's arm off. This may or may not have made him flinch.

And then there was a lot of fake blood spraying everywhere, and he found his palms getting all sweaty. And then another zombie-friend started attacking them, and he jumped again. And then the blonde became a zombie too, and started attacking her boyfriend. And then—

The movie continued like this, with scare after scare and lots of gore in between. Somehow he found himself gripping Elizabeta's hand for dear life, though he couldn't quite remember when he started holding it. By the end of the movie, he was staring away from the screen at his popcorn, playing a broken record of _"it's not real it's not real it's not real it's not real"_ over and over again in his head. Unfortunately, it really didn't seem to help much. He could still hear the gunshots, the hoarse groaning, the shrill screams of terror. It had gotten to the point where the last person was being cornered at the escalator by all his zombie-afied friends, pleading with them to remember him, that they knew him, that they were friends, but it did no good. The movie ended with the guy's zombie girlfriend lunging at him and the screen going black. Gilbert could hear nothing but his marathon-heartbeat in his ears during the silence as the credits rolled.

"So, what'd you think?" Elizabeta asked loudly, startling him (a little).

"O-Oh, um, well, you know," he fumbled, trying to keep his breathing steady. "It was great! Really, awesome. Awesome movie,"

Elizabeta smirked, but didn't argue. Okay, that was seriously weird. Elizabeta would never miss a chance to make fun of him for that… His questions were answered when they got up to leave the mostly-empty theater, following the little trail of red lights on the floor.

"You look cute when you're terrified," she whispered in his ear.

He turned to look at her. "D-do I?"

"Mhmm…"

And just as they walked outside into the cold, she grabbed his ass and kissed him, and he decided that whatever she was planning for when they got home was probably worth two hours of terror.


	2. Misinterpretation

_A/N: I apologize for being late on this one. It's only the second chapter and I'm already behind... This is the CanUkr installment. Please note that I've used the name "Katyusha" for Ukraine, even though there is no true canon name for her. As always, reviews are highly appreciated! Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoy!_

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**Chapter 2: Misinterpretation**

Matthew pressed the doorbell, then withdrew his hand quickly and stepped back, feeling a bit anxious. Even though he'd been seeing Katyusha for a while now, he still felt a bit nervous whenever he came to visit her. It was ridiculous that he, despite being a nation and 145 years old, was still acting like a love-struck teenager. Then again, compared to Katyusha, or any nation, really, he probably _was _just a teenager. He and his brother were practically babies.

Suddenly, the door burst open, jolting him out of his thoughts. There, standing in the doorframe, stood his Valentine for the day, wearing a simple blue blouse, some jeans, and a positively radiant smile. He knew it was cliché to say it, but she really was the most beautiful person he'd ever met. Her eyes were blue like sky, her hair was the color of endless seas of grain, and h-her _breasts_—

"Matthew! Come in, come in!" Katyusha cried, gesturing for him to come inside. He could feel himself blushing out of embarrassment as he kept his eyes trained directly at her face, refusing to let himself look anywhere else. Teenager, indeed…

"Hi, Katyusha," he greeted her, somewhat awkwardly, as he stepped into the house. However, Katyusha didn't seem to notice. She was busy tidying up a few last-minute items while trying to tell him everything at once.

"-the hockey game is on Channel 4, right? The television is in the living room, and if you want to you can hang your coat up on the hook over there – yes that one – and don't worry about taking your shoes off, you don't need to. Oh! And would you like anything to drink?" She had bustled into the kitchen and was now turned around to look at him, her eyes wide.

"Oh, um, speaking of drinks," he said, holding up the six-pack of Canadian beer he'd brought with him. "I bought this along the way, in case we wanted to drink some while we watched the game… I mean, I don't know if you drink beer, but I thought, you know, couldn't be a bad idea…"

She left the kitchen to join him in the living room, smiling. "Oh, yes, of course, I do drink beer. That was very sweet of you."

"Well, it was no trouble, really…"

"But still! I would never have thought to get some," replied Katyusha, blushing as she sat down next to him on the couch in front of the TV. After clicking a few buttons on the remote, a hockey rink appeared on the screen, followed by the excited voice of the announcer as he narrated the plays.

After they'd opened a couple beers and settled down into the game, most of the previous awkwardness began to melt away. Hockey was something they both enjoyed, which meant it was also an easy topic for them to talk about. Both he and Katyusha had strong opinions about the sport, and it was one of the few things that made them drop their normally polite, calm personalities in favor of slightly more boisterous ones. Their shared passion was almost always enough to make them feel more at ease with each other, because frankly, it was impossible to feel shy around her when they were both yelling at the same television screen.

"CHECK HIM, FOR CHRIST'S SAKE, CHECK HIM!"

"Yes! YES! Don't let him stay in possession!"

A whistle sounded

"You're _kidding _me! Are they BLIND?"

"That was _not_ a foul! Idiot referees!"

Yes, feeling nervous was definitely impossible.

Well, almost impossible.

About half-way through the first period, he started to notice some things. It occurred to him during the middle of a timeout that Katyusha was sitting very close to him. Their shoulders were almost touching, and if he turned a little bit towards her, he could smell some sort of fruity shampoo.

Later, during a commercial break, Katyusha had leaned forward to grab her beer when the top button on her blouse popped off, revealing a whole new tract of alabaster skin. To make matters worse, she spent the next ten minutes fiddling with the threads were the button used to be, drawing his attention to the area even more. It took a lot of strength to keep his eyes focused on the Geico Gecko and not glance over at them— her. Her. He meant her.

Then, during the second period, they'd been standing close to the TV when their team scored a goal that put them in the lead. Just as he turned around to congratulate her and high-five, she started shouting with glee and _jumped_. Several times. A-And now…

…Her hand was on his thigh.

He couldn't tell if it was an accident, since she didn't seem to be acknowledging the fact at all. And yet…. How does a person _accidentally_ put their hand on your thigh? It seemed impossible, but it _had _to be true, because there was absolutely no way Katyusha was doing it on purpose. He sat stiffly and tried to ignore her fingers resting lightly just in front of his knee, tried to pretend he was so thoroughly engrossed in the hockey game that he didn't notice the blatant unavoidable presence of her _hand _ on his _thigh _(his _thigh!_).

After about five minutes of doing his best to not pay attention, he was reaching his limit. He'd completely lost track of the game and could barely remember who was playing who, let alone the score. All he could think about was where her fingertips were, and he knew that if she didn't move soon, then his 145-year-old teenage body was going to make things very awkward.

Luckily, she did move. A timer went off in the kitchen and she stood up quickly, walking out of the living room. "That must be the cookies!"

"Y-You made cookies?" he called back, taking advantage of this brief opportunity to pull himself together. Breathe. Watch the game. Breathe. Lean forward, press fingers against temples. Don't think of hands or buttons or _b-breasts—_

"What did I miss?" Katyusha's voice carried into the room and he straightened up, checking the score.

"Well, it looks like they made another goal…" he answered, turning around to look at her as she entered the room. "It looks like they're win- win…"

He froze.

_Breasts._

Katyusha was standing in the doorway, holding a tray of cookies, and her b-blouse was… gone. Not there. _Completely missing. _He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment and opened them again, and no_, she was still topless_.

_"Q-Qu'est…"_ Wait. French. He tried again. "W-Wh….Um… You're not…" _Breasts._ "You're not… clothes?" he stumbled, unable to stop staring.

Then, completely unexpectedly, Katyusha's eyes filled up with tears. For whatever reason, this brought him out of his stupor, and he shot up and rushed over to her. "No! No, please don't cry, I was—" _Breasts._ "—just really, um, surprised—"

"I had been trying…" she half-sobbed, setting down the tray of cookies. "…trying to be subtle, but—"

"Shh, shh, it's fine, really—" _Breasts_ "—It's fine, please—"

"But you didn't _notice_, so I—"

"It's okay—" _Breasts. _"—Really—" _Breasts._ "—I'm not upset—"

"So I thought I would have to be more, be more _obvious_—"

"Please—" _Breasts._ "It's no big— _Whoa!"_

Katyusha finally burst into tears and lunged at him, pulling him into a tight embrace as she sobbed into his chest. At this point, his brain almost completely shut down. All he could manage to do was pat her shoulder reassuringly and try desperately to keep himself under control. His mind seemed to have forgotten how to think about anything but her, um, assets and how he could feel them pressed against him and how there was no cloth separating them from him…

"…And I thought you were just being polite," Katyusha blubbered, her voice slightly muffled. "And so I decided to, to be _blunt,_ but now I see I was mistaken and I have offended you—"

"I'm not offended," he cut in quickly, startling her so that she looked up at him with watery eyes and a tear-streaked face. "I was _surprised, _but I, um really—"

_BreastsBreastsBreastsBreasts BreastsBreastsBreastsBreasts _.

"—I really like you, and I, well, I think you're a very…" he paused, blushing. "A very attractive person."

Now it was her turn to stare. She was quiet for so long that he began to wonder if he'd said the wrong thing and she would start to cry again, but then she smiled and started to giggle. He supposed he was glad she wasn't sobbing anymore, but mostly he just felt even more confused than he was before.

"You and your brother are so alike," she said. He immediately opened his mouth to refute the claim, but she stopped him. "You are both so _oblivious _sometimes!"

And then—

And then she kissed him, right on the lips, chastely but long enough that their noses bumped together and he tasted her ChapStick and seriously, _what was going on?_

When they broke away, he wanted to ask her questions, he really did, but everything had stopped working and he really couldn't figure out how to breathe, let alone string together a sentence. Luckily, Katyusha seemed to sense his confusion, because she blushed and launched into an explanation.

"When I called you the other day and invited you over tonight, I thought that we were planning on… well… more than just a hockey game. And when you agreed, I thought you knew that too."

He blinked, comprehending her meaning. "But… I thought you said we'd watch the game, eat some dinner, and then have coffee…"

She gave him a look.

"Oh…"

Even though he felt like an idiot and even though she was still half-naked, he found himself smiling, and when she started laughing, he couldn't help but laugh a little bit too. After a few moments, the television behind them announced the end of the hockey game. Katyusha began to finger the top button on his shirt.

"So…" she whispered, looking shy. "Do you still want to have some coffee?"

The kiss he gave her was more than enough of an answer.


	3. Adversity

_A/N: I apologize for this story being so late. I think I may change my deadline to the end of February as opposed to the 14__th__, because it's looking like writing a story every day is too much for me. Welcome to the longest chapter yet. This one is GerIta, and I'm worried you'll find it boring… I don't know. I suppose we'll see, won't we?_

**Chapter 3: Adversity**

Valentine's Day had never been something he'd paid much attention to. As a nation, he'd lived through hundreds of them, and after a while they began to feel redundant. There was very little to distinguish it from any other day of the year, besides cheaper chocolate and a few more kissing couples on the streets. Since he had always considered himself to be married to his work, he had always been more of a spectator of the holiday, rather than a participant.

That was, of course, before Feliciano.

Feliciano was entirely the opposite. Every Valentine's day was an event, an occasion, something to be remembered. Technically speaking, Feliciano was even older than he was, and yet he never seemed to tire of the foolish romantic gestures. Even before they became what they were now, he'd insisted on going out to expensive restaurants, despite how his own cooking outshone that of many of the world's most distinguished chefs. If circumstances arose that prevented them from being together on the 14th, Feliciano never failed to send some roses his way, along with a card and a phone call. He didn't quite understand why, but for whatever reason, Valentine's Day had always been very important to Feliciano.

This was the reason Ludwig was standing at the airport just outside Siena on a Monday afternoon, trying to hail a cab that could take him into Cerbaia. Feliciano had offered to pick him up, but he'd insisted that it would be no trouble. Of course, the real reason he'd declined was because he usually felt terrified for his life when the Italian was behind the wheel, but he hadn't told him that. He'd rather pay the ridiculously high taxi fee than race 30 miles above the speed limit down badly-paved roads in a Ferrari convertible. Besides, he was fairly certain he knew how to get to Feliciano's house anyway. It really wouldn't be a hassle.

After ten minutes of waiting by the curb, an old, yellow taxi pulled up and came to a halt with creaking breaks. The model itself couldn't have been more than 25 years old, but with its rusted pain, cracked side window, and missing hubcaps, the car looked ancient. A very tan, dark-haired Italian man ducked out of the driver-side door and rushed out to help him fit his bag in the trunk, though he was perfectly capable of handling it himself.

"Hello! You are a… eh… traveler?" the man asked in broken English. "Where are you going?"

"I am trying to get to Cerbaia," he replied, also in English. "You are probably more familiar with the area than I am."

The man gave him a confused look. "I am sorry?"

"Cerbaia. I need to get to Cerbaia."

The look on the man's face cleared immediately, and he smiled widely, displaying crooked teeth. "Cerbaia! Yes, I drive to Cerbaia." He slammed the trunk shut and walked around to unlock the passenger door before returning to the front seat.

The moment Ludwig closed the door behind him, he began to regret his decision to take a taxi. The cab driver was an even worse motorist than Feliciano. Only seconds after he pulled onto the road, the man turned on an outdated radio that was sitting on top of the dashboard, fiddling with the dials as he governed the vehicle with the thumb and forefinger of his left hand. When he'd finished toying with the knobs and buttons, the machine began to scratch out fast-pace Italian chattering that couldn't possibly be conducive to attentive driving. To make matters worse, the man seemed to find it impossible to keep a steady speed, alternating between the gas and the break as though it was some sort of tap dance. He found himself holding the handle overhead for dear life when they merged onto the freeway. Luckily, the roads were mostly empty, so they were in no danger of crashing into another car. Then again, other cars weren't exactly a requirement of a car accident, were they? Trees, road signs, ditches, fences, and houses worked just as well.

After what felt like an endless amount of time, the landscape began to look familiar. At first it was just a small town that he remembered going shopping in. Then it was a grove of olive trees and a vineyard they'd toured once. When they passed by a blue sign announcing 'CERBAIA' in large white lettering, he knew they were close.

"You can pull over now," he told the cab driver. "I think I can find my way from here."

The driver turned to look at him with another confused expression, taking his eyes of the road so that they veered dangerously close to the centerline. "Sorry? My English… not good."

"Pull over!" Ludwig said quickly, not even bothering to try German. The sooner he could escape the taxi, the better. He kept his eyes trained on the wobbling road in front of them, as if his own attentiveness could make up for his driver's negligence.

"Ah, yes, I am stopping…" said the man as he jerked the steering wheel towards the right and used the parking break to bring the car to an abrupt halt. The tail end of the car was still sticking out into the road but he decided not to comment. Instead he threw open the door and stooped out onto the street, making immediately for the trunk to grab his bag. In a matter of seconds he was thumbing through his wallet, looking for the correct amount of euros to pay the driver.

"This should be enough," he said, handing over a number of bills and slipping his wallet back into the side-pocked of his bag. The man took the cash immediately and flipped through it, counting and looking somewhat thwarted. Perhaps he was used to getting large, unintentional tips from American tourists who were either unfamiliar with European money or too lazy to count correctly.

Once he had finished paying the Italian, he managed to pull his phone out of his pocket with the hand that wasn't carrying his baggage, sliding the bar to unlock it and checking for any texts from Feliciano. To his disappointment, there weren't any, but then again, he _had _told him not to text him while he was on the plain. He was probably just waiting for a text to confirm his flight hand landed before he sent him any messages.

"Would you like me to hold, eh, bag?" offered the cab driver. "It is… more easy, to use phone?"

Surprised but appreciative, Ludwig handed over the bag. "Thank you," he said and began to tap out a message in German on the touch screen of his phone.

_Just arrived in Cerbaia. Will be at your place soon._

For a couple moments, he stared at the message. Then, before he could change his mind, he added two more words and sent it.

_Love you._

Swiftly he shoved his phone back into his pocket and retrieved his bag from the Italian driver. Without another word, the man hopped into the cab and drove off, leaving him alone in the middle of the badly-paved road near Cerbaia. Up ahead, he could see the small cluster of houses that was, no doubt, the town in question. Hopefully he would be able to ask a local which home was Feliciano's.

After ten minutes, he reached the edge of the little town, which he now saw consisted of no more than fifteen houses, a small church, and two family shops. Outside the nearest store, a old, plump woman was bustling about, carrying bouquets of flowers indoors and glancing up at the sky nervously. She wore an apron over a dark brown dress and smiled at him kindly as he approached.

"Scusi, uh…" he began, searching for the right words in Italian. "Do you… know where Feliciano Vargas lives?"

The woman smiled warmly and nodded. "The Vargas house is a ways up the road," she said, gesturing eastward along the path that exited the village. "It is quite a walk. You may want to hurry, though. I think it will rain soon."

"Yes?" Ludwig replied doubtfully, looked up at the cerulean, cloudless sky and then back at the woman. "Well, thank you, for the…" He glanced over at the flowers the woman was fawning over and was struck with a sudden idea. Gesturing at a bouquet of deep red roses, he asked one last question. "May I buy…?"

"Of course, of course!" she exclaimed. "Would you like a ribbon on them?"

"Oh, no thank you…" he tried, but she was already wrapping a large red band around the stems and tying it into a bow. Hastily, he reached into the side pocket of his bag to get his wallet and…

The pocket was empty.

A cold dread settled in the pit of his stomach as he felt around through the rest of his bag without success. Could it have fallen out while he was walking? No… The pocket had been sealed with Velcro the whole way. Suddenly, his mind flew to the moment he'd handed over his bag to the cab driver only fifteen minutes earlier. Had the man stolen it? He must have… How could he have been so foolish as to let him hold his bag? Now he was stuck in a foreign country with no money or identification. He could feel a headache forming already…

"I am sorry," he told the woman. "I do not have money…"

The woman nodded sympathetically, as though she'd guessed what had happened. However, she finished tying up the bouquet and held it out to him all the same.

"No, I…" he paused, wondering if he'd misspoken. "I can't pay."

The woman just smiled knowingly. "Please, take it. No one should go to their lovers on Valentine's Day without roses."

He almost refused, but the look in the woman's eye seemed to suggest that she wouldn't take "no" for an answer. Instead, he simply smiled and thanked the woman, accepting the roses and heading in the direction the woman had pointed before.

By the time he was nearing the summit of the small hill the village was situated under, clouds had begun to flock together above him. He never would have expected it, since the rest of the day had been entirely clear, albeit a bit cool; the flower woman must have known something he didn't. Luckily, he didn't have much farther to go, or at least he didn't think he did. He hoped that when he reached the top of the hill, he would be able to see Feliciano's house.

However, his hopes did not materialize. When he finally arrived at the crest, his leather travel shoes covered in grey dust, he was disappointed by the view of a rolling, picturesque, and very home-less countryside. There wasn't even a single small shack or barn to betray evidence of human influence. To make matters worse, the dark clouds skulking overhead seemed to be getting denser. Perhaps the next hill would give him a better view. Perhaps he could reach it before the rain came.

Once again, the universe failed to indulge him. Maybe it thought it had been too generous when it provided him with a senseless cab driver who stole his wallet and left him to fend for himself miles away from his actual destination. The rainfall began as a light sprinkling; barely enough to be considered rain. Several minutes passed and it graduated to "drizzle", which was far more noticeable. The unpaved road did not hold up well in wet conditions. Water began to gather in any small depression it could find, and by the time the rain achieved the level of "showers", most of the dirt had turned into mud. Puddles quickly formed as the "showers" escalated to "heavy showers", drenching his clothes and plastering his hair to his forehead. Hunched over with his hands hidden in his pockets, he tried his best to keep himself as dry and as warm as possible, but with little success. Although there was little wind, the downpour still managed to find its way onto every part of his body from head to toe. The cuffs of his trousers were soaked through from splashing in puddles, and the clothing on his back and shoulders stuck to his skin.

He began to wonder of the universe was trying to punish him for all his past wrongs. It was true that he'd done some horrible things throughout his lifetime, but surely he'd paid proper cosmic compensation by now? Personally, he felt that he could never fully make up for many of the horrors he'd committed, even if he'd been forgiven by the rest of the world. However, if karma still had bones to pick with him, he would rather karma told him outright rather than making him put up with all this frustrating passive-aggression, manifested in the form of taxi drivers and torrential downpours.

He was so preoccupied he barely noticed when he arrived at the top of the next hill over. One moment, he was hiking upward, and the next, the ground was flat. Shielding his eyes from the rain with his hand, he scanned the landscape and was relieved to find a large, old-style villa positioned not too far away on the plateaued hill. There was just one problem…

The road was washed out.

A small ocean had formed between him and Feliciano's house. While it didn't appear deep, it spanned on for what he guessed was about a quarter kilometer. The water was murky from all the mud from the road, giving it the appearance of some sort of soup broth, except much less warm. There was no other way across it. He would have to go through it.

Steeling himself, he put one foot into the water, grimacing at the feeling of water filling his shoes. The shoes would be ruined; it would be impossible to restore them after they got this saturated. As he sloshed along, he kept his eyes focused on the warm glow of the porch light from Feliciano's house that was becoming increasingly more appreciated as the sky darkened. Although the water was only ankle-deep, his whole lower legs were completely sodden and muddy. Miniature rivulets of rainwater streamed down his face and dripped off his chin, almost making it difficult to see. He was almost there… Only a little bit farther…

Finally he reached house. The front door flew open as he emerged from the small sea, revealing a surprised and horrified Feliciano. The Italian muttered something that sounded like "Mio Dio" before rushing out to pull him inside.

"I thought you were coming in a cab!" Feliciano exclaimed. Just as Ludwig was about to respond, he interrupted him and continued. "It doesn't really matter now, I guess. You're soaking! You must be freezing cold. You should take those clothes off right away. I'm sure I have something you can wear if the clothes in your bag are all soaked, too."

Despite how wet and cold he was, and despite Feliciano's fawning, the only thing he was aware of as he entered the house was how much mud and water he was tracking inside and how long it would take to clean up. He peeled off his clothes obediently so that he could try to minimize the damage, though he had to admit he _was _feeling extremely cold as well.

Several minutes later, he was sitting on the couch next to Feliciano, clad in a too-short satin robe and nursing an almost burning-hot cup of coffee. Struck by a sudden thought, he went to retrieve the flowers he'd bought earlier from where they'd been set near the door. When he reentered the living room, he presented Feliciano with the very wet and very sorry-looking bouquet of roses.

"They were ruined on the way, but…" he said bashfully. "Happy Valentine's Day.

To his surprise, Feliciano began to laugh. Before he could ask what was so funny, the other man stood up and kissed him full on the lips, silencing him effectively. When the first kiss ended, he initiated a second, and a third, and a fourth.

"_Buon San Valentino,_" whispered Feliciano in his ear. And suddenly, despite the horrible car ride, despite losing his wallet, despite the monsoon he'd faced to get here, he couldn't imagine being anywhere else.


	4. Coincidence

_A/N: Sorry this is a bit late. This chapter will be AmeriPan, and it's a bit more AU-ish than the others. In my opinion, it's the best chapter yet, and I had a great time writing it this weekend. I hope you enjoy it! As always, please review._

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**Chapter 4: Coincidence**

Walgreens at 9:30 on February 14th was like a Nickelback concert: completely empty. It was a barren wasteland, inhabited only by the miserable and the desperate. The few who dared to brave this urban wilderness did so out of necessity, and had absolutely no desire to be there.

Alfred, however, was the exception.

He was perfectly okay with going to Walgreens, by himself, on the night where people are actually _expected_ to be acting all lovey-dovey with someone. Cuddling and sex and all those things were awesome, but when you were single you got to do whatever the fuck you wanted whenever the fuck you wanted to. He could try to make grilled cheese in a toaster or do the cinnamon dragon and no one would try to convince him that it was a Bad Idea. He could miss garbage day and forget to turn on the dishwasher and rewear old underwear and no one cared. Hell, he could walk around his house naked singing Ke$ha all morning and there wouldn't be a single person around to stop him. Being single was _freedom_ and _liberty_, and he'd fight for frickin' freedom and liberty because he was AMERICAN. Cue stars and stripes and an epic guitar solo.

That being said, he had a date with some beer and ice cream later tonight, and he didn't want to be late. If it hadn't been International Discount Chocolate Day, he might not have decided to leave the house at all, but seeing as how he was running low on Bud Lights and Benny-J's, he had more than enough reasons to justify the trip. So here he was, pulling into the Walgreens parking lot and parking his red Ford f-150 right over the painted line dividing the two parking spaces. He had a big truck, and he was too lazy to try to pull out again and straighten it, and besides, it wasn't like there was anyone there, anyway. He'd be back out in less than ten minutes.

Crumpling up the wrapping from his Big Mac and chucking it underneath the passenger seat, he hopped out and locked the car with his car key remote. The truck chirped back at him happily, and he gave it a little wave as he went through the automatic doors into the drugstore.

First stop was Redbox. In order for the Awesome Night of Single Awesomeness to be complete, he would need a movie, and not just any movie. He needed an _amazing _movie, and, because he felt like reminding himself why heroes were awesome, that meant he needed to rent _The Avengers_. It wasn't on Netflix, so Redbox was perty much the only other option.

After waiting behind a short Asian-looking man who also appeared to think that getting superhero movies was a good idea (_The Dark Knight Rises_), he walked up to the machine and tapped out what he wanted. With the swipe of a credit card, the little DVD popped out of the slot and he was all set.

Okay. So now it was actual shopping time.

Swinging his basket casually at his side, he swaggered over to the magazine aisle, hoping to find some prime fapping material for later that night. He didn't need to be with someone to have a good time. What was that saying again? "Give a man a woman, he'll get off for a night. Teach a man to use his hand, and he'll get off for a lifetime." Or something like that. Close enough, right?

As he glanced at a few of the gossip magazines (Kristin Stewart was marrying Robert Pattinson? No way! That bitch.) he saw out of the corner of his eye that the short man with the similar movie taste was browsing through the magazines too. The man had straight dark hair with bangs cut just high enough that his oddly deep brown eyes weren't obscured. His clothes weren't anything out of the ordinary, but something about him caught his eye and made him watch. He was perusing what looked like some Asian magazines with Asian-style drawings of girls with huge boobs in school uniforms. Huh. Well, whatever floats your boat. Alfred was about to grab one that had a photo of some chick in a bikini when he happened to glimpse at one of the magazine hiding at the bottom of the other man's basket. Concealed underneath the batman movie was another Asian magazine, only this one had drawings of insanely muscular and seemingly well-endowed men. Unable to stop himself from grinning with silent glee, Alfred reached for the first magazine he could see that had muscly dudes on it, as if to tell him in secret drugstore code that he was on the same team, that he swung the same way, that he…

…Was available? No; like he said, he was completely totally 100% fine with being single. On Valentine's Day. Just sitting at home, eating ice cream, watching the Avengers. That was the life.

After he left that aisle, he cruised lazily through a couple other random aisles, passing by a hurried couple looking for last-minute condoms. Pfft. He wasn't in any rush. He could get all this things _at his leisure_. Next thing on the list was, of course, beer. Beer was important, and Bud Light was the best, no matter how much Matthew seemed to scoff at him for it. As he took out a 6-pack from the aisle of freezers and refrigerators on the back wall, he noticed that the dark-haired man was also back there, and he was buying- wait, no way. Was that Ben & Jerry's Cherry Garcia Ice Cream that he was setting in his basket?

"Dude, that's, like my favorite kind ice cream too!" he blurted before he could stop himself. The smaller man looked up, seeming a bit startled.

"Really?" he answered, except his Ls sorta sounded like Rs, so it actually was more like "Rearry" than anything.

"Yeah, totally!" said Alfred. This random guy was become more awesome every time he saw him. "I almost always get that flavor but today—" he walked a little closer and grabbed a different ice cream carton from the open fridge. "—I'm in more of a New York Super Fudge Chunk kinda mood."

The man nodded, his pale-skinned features appearing pensive. "I see. Back in Japan, we have many different types of ice cream that are not sold here. I find that I like this flavor, though."

Ah! So he was from Japan! That would explain his accent… He tried to remember everything he'd ever learned about Japan, but all he could think of was that they were an island who had earthquakes and lots of super high-tech stuff. An awkward silence stretched as he struggled to find something to say and, failing to come up with something, resorted to an equally awkward exit. "Well, see you around," he said brightly, then headed off in the opposite direction. Unfortunately, this was also the opposite direction of the discount Valentine's Day chocolate, which was sort of the whole reason he wanted to go to Walgreens in the first place. Trying to stop himself from physically slapping himself in the face, he made a loop around the store so as to avoid running into the cute Japanese guy who he'd completely screwed up any chances he may have had with.

This did not work.

When he got to the discount chocolate aisle, he found none other than Cute Japanese Guy himself standing right in front of the very chocolates he'd been hoping to buy. Dammit. He was so screwed.

"Hello again," Alfred said, doing his best to smile and not seem awkward.

Cute Japanese Guy smiled politely and gave him a quiet "Hello" as well, then turned away, looking embarrassed.

He floundered for something else to say that would make him look cool, but in the end, it turned out that he didn't need to say anything at all.

"I don't believe it. They're completely out of conversation hearts!" said Cute Japanese Guy (CJG?) suddenly, sounding very annoyed. "This is ridiculous!"

"Wait, dude, seriously?" he said, equally miffed. Sure enough, the shelf labeled "Sweethearts Conversation Hearts" was completely bare. "That's totally not cool! Those are like, _critical_ to Valentine's Day! How can they _not_ have any left?"

"Perhaps they have some left, but not on the right shelf?" suggested CJG.

"Yeah… Maybe…"

They both began to scour the display, still fuming a little, bonded by mutual outrage. Alfred didn't find any in the Reece's section, or the M&Ms, or the Rolos, but there, on top of the bags of Assorted Candies, was that…? Yes! It was!

He reached for the candies at the very same time that the Japanese man reached for them. Their hands came into contact briefly on top of the small cardboard box before they both yanked their hands away, embarrassed.

"You should have them, if you want them," the dark-haired man said.

Alfred shook his head. "Nah, that's fine. You should take them. You were here first, anyway."

"Really, I insist. They are all yours."

A short silence spanned between them before Alfred moved his hand forward and retrieved the candy. Then, in a shy, quiet voice, he asked, "Do you want to… share them? Maybe?"

"…That sounds like a very good idea."

"Great! Awesome! So, I guess we'll just, um, pay for our stuff? And then we can go out and, uh," he paused, "share these?"

"Yes, okay," replied the man. Then, he gave a short little bow and held out his hand for the American to shake. "My name is Kiku, but the way. It's nice to meet you."

"I'm Alfred. It's nice to meet you too," he replied, accepting the handshake. He was still grinning and he couldn't seem to stop.

It only took them a few minutes to get through the nearly-empty checkout. As they left, Alfred popped open the box of candy hearts and shook out a couple into his hand, one for each of them. He handed one over to Kiku before trying to read the red lettering on his.

"It says "Fax Me" I think. That's so lame. Who the hell faxes anyone anymore?"

Kiku laughed, then held his own up to the light. "I think mine says…" he murmured, turning his head to look directly at Alfred. "…Kiss me."

Alfred wasn't sure if he was just saying it or if he actually wanted him to kiss him. He really didn't want to get it wrong and come across as too forward or something. But then, Kiku leaned forward a little bit and half-closed his eyes, and he figured he was probably safe to assume it was the latter.

And so he did.

He kissed him.


	5. Definition

_A/N: Here is the fourth chapter. I'm not as happy with it, but I suppose I'm not going to be happy with all of them, am I? This one is DenNor. Lukas is Norway and Mathias is Denmark. "God Valentinsdag!" means Good Valentine's Day in Norwegian, and "Godnat"_ means "Goodnight" in Danish. As always, I hope you enjoy and please review.

* * *

**Chapter 5: Definition**

When Lukas entered the hotel room, his evening coffee in hand, he almost thought he'd walked into the wrong room. The walls were in the same places, and the furniture hadn't moved, but…

The floor was covered with linens. Comforters, sheets, and towels were draped over chairs, stretched between tables and lodged under the legs of the dresser. Together, they formed a series of large misshapen Frankenstein tents that spread across the hardwood of the entire hotel room. It was almost as though their temporary living space had been overrun by a band of small children pretending to be spies in a secret fort. If he hadn't known better, this might have even been his conclusion. However, he _did _know better; he knew that the man he was rooming with, while not physically a child, may as well have had the mind of one for his lack of maturity. If there was a mess in the room, it was likely to be his fault.

"_Mathias?_" he called out slightly louder than necessary. While saying the other man's name was certainly a way to get his attention, Lukas was looking for more than that. His single word was both asking for an explanation and offering a very distinct warning. They'd only just gotten over another argument, and he didn't particularly want to dive back into another one.

After a moment or so, the outline of a head appeared in a bath towel near the end of the bed. The dome of cloth moved closer, traveling across the room until it eventually came to a stop right in front of the door. Suddenly, the head of Mathias appeared from inside the cloth-depths of the fort. To Lukas' annoyance, it was smiling.

"_God Valentinsdag!_" Mathias said, beaming childishly. "Do you like my fortress?"

Lukas stared. "What are the maids going to think?" he stated blandly, taking a sip of his coffee. "You've just made a huge mess for them to clean up. I doubt they're going to want us staying in this hotel again."

"But they get paid to clean!"

"They get paid to wash your clothes and scrub the bathroom. _This—"_ He gestured to the room. "_—_is just being rude."

Mathias scoffed but relented all the same. "_Fine_, if it means that much to you I'll clean it up in the morning… But before then, you should come down here and join me! It looks _really_ cool from the inside. And we can talk."

He let out a resigned sort of sigh but complied, crouching down and keeping one hand firmly on his coffee cup as he crawled awkwardly inside the makeshift fort. There was actually quite a bit more space than he'd been expecting. Near the back of the largest portion of open space was the refrigerator, which the fort had been designed to incorporate. There was also a deck of playing cards and a small reading light off to the side to help return a bit of the visibility lost by the fabric. Once he'd settled a bit on top of a couple of pillows that had been stripped from the bed, Mathias scooted over to the fridge and swung it open, peering inside.

"Do you want something to drink?" he asked, pulling out a bottle of Danish beer. "My boss is paying for the hotel room, so anything we take will just get charged to him."

Rather than answering, Lukas simply held up his coffee cup. "Suit yourself…" the other nation replied as he grabbed a beer for himself and moved to claim the pillow-seat beside him.

They sat in silence for a moment before Lukas finally spoke. "What do we do now?" he asked. He wasn't exactly sure what he was expecting to hear, or what he wanted to hear. The notes he took during the meeting earlier that day were lying near the door, neglected, and he knew it was probably in his best interest to look over them. But that wasn't what he felt like doing quite yet. For now, he was content to indulge in Mathias' strange, silly ideas, if only to criticize them.

After a while, Mathias finally piped up. "We could play a card game?" he suggested hopefully. Lukas shrugged, and so the deck of cards was retrieved.

"Do you want to play Piratbridge? I love that game…"

"I know you do," he answered. The cards were dealt quickly and they started to play.

Throughout the game they carried out a comfortable stream of conversation. Most of it was mundane: what their bosses were making them do this time, whom at the meeting was probably sleeping with whom, and how long the flight would take to get back the next day. Just like they always did, the talked in a mixture of Danish and Norwegian, switching back and forth between the two casually until they could barely tell which one they were speaking at any given time. The two languages were so intrinsically similar that they'd never had any trouble understanding each other, especially since they were accustomed to the way the other talked. Lukas found himself relaxing into the flow of words and cards, the enclosed setting allowing them to sink back into their usual habit of comfortable banter. Although the Dane was responsible for most of his headaches, he would be lying if he said there was another person that he was more familiar with than Mathias. After all, they'd known each other since they first appeared as nations. It would have been strange if they hadn't understood each other by now.

"Hey, Lukas?" Mathias said, laying a card down in front of them to finish the game.

"What?"

"This is going to sound stupid, but…" he paused. "What… _are _we?"

"You're right. That does sound stupid."

Mathias' pensive expression didn't change, as if he hadn't noticed Lukas' blunt insult.  
"Well, what I mean is, what is… us?"

"We are Lukas and Mathias."

"No! I meant_—_"

"We are Norway and Denmark."

"Hold up, I was trying to_—_"

"We are personifications of countries who live for an indefinite amount of time."

"Stop it, Lukas! What I mean is, what are we together? What is our… I don't know, relationship?"

"…Why are you asking that?"

"I don't know, just… answer the question?"

It suddenly occurred to Lukas that Mathias might be drunk. Usually, it was very difficult to tell when Mathias was intoxicated, since he acted loud, rambunctious, and brainless anyway. In addition, he had a high tolerance to alcohol and seldom go drunk in the first place, making it such a rare occurrence that only people who knew him well like Lukas were able to catch the tells. The sole distinguishing feature of a drunken Mathias was his willingness to actually talk about important things. He normally avoided them like the plague, changing the subject whenever they came up. But when he was drunk, it was as if his one and only inhibition flew out the window, leaving him perfectly willing to discuss things like… what _they _were.

"How many beers have you had?" Lukas asked, trying to look past the other man at the cluster of empty bottles.

"Well, I've only had two since we started playing this game…"  
Lukas eyed him knowingly. "But…?"

"…I had more earlier…"

The fact that Mathias didn't give him a number confirmed his suspicions about his roommate's sobriety. Now, the real question was _why _he was drunk. Mathias could hardly blame his intoxication on the pre-paid mini bar, since he was rarely lacking alcohol back home but almost never overdid it. He was probably preoccupied about something, Lukas guessed. Mathias simply wasn't a worrying person, so when something upset him, he usually tried to drown it out. This was something he was an expert at, because no one noticed if he drank an extra bottle or two more than normal.

Except Lukas noticed. Lukas would always notice.

"Look, if you let yourself talk about this now, you'll regret it when you're sober," he said reasonably as he studied Mathias for any more signs of inebriation. It was hard to tell in the dimmer light, but it looked like his cheeks were flushed slightly, the skin tinged with pink around his cheekbones and nose. Now that he thought about it, Mathias had also been suspiciously easy to beat at Piratbridge, as though he hadn't been fully engaged in the game. Even now he seemed fidgety and unsure, and Lukas almost began to feel concerned. Almost.

Mathias didn't reply to his statement immediately. Instead, he studied his nails and picked idly at his cuticles, staring at the cloth opposite them. Then:

"I won't regret it."

"…You don't know that."

The Dane sat up suddenly and looked him straight in the eye. "Yes, I do. I've been thinking about this a lot lately. I… think this is a conversation we need to have."

"Why now?" Lukas asked. "Why now, of all times?"

"Because it's Valentine's Day."

"But why do we _need_ to—"

"Lukas." Mathias interrupted him, his tone uncharacteristically serious. "_What are we?_"

Now it was Lukas' turn to hesitate. There were no ways to avoid this question, and even as he tried to look for an out, he came up empty. Eventually, he resigned himself to answering with the most honest reply he could give.

"…I don't know…"

For a moment, Lukas thought he would accept this answer. But then he spoke. "You see, this is why we need to talk about it," he said. "We've known each other since the very beginning. We were Vikings together. I mean, I know I ruled over you for 400 years, but, we've moved past that now, right? And nowadays, our bosses get along alright, and so do our citizens. We've got great relations with each other as nations, but…

"It's always been a bit more than that, hasn't it?"

Lukas remained silent, so Mathias rambled on.

"I know this sounds stupid, but I honestly can't imagine living without you. I know we fight a lot, but we balance each other out, you know? And it's not like we don't have a history. We've… slept together, before. More than once."

"When we were drunk," he cut in, feeling that it was a necessary distinction.

Mathias went a little redder, then said quietly, "Not every time…"

After a pause, he added, almost as an afterthought, "And I really like you."

Lukas didn't know how to respond. He found himself at a loss for words, for thoughts, even, as he stared at his feet and at the pillow underneath him. Finally, he couldn't stall any longer. "I don't think there's a word to describe what we are. We don't fit into a definition, and that's okay with me. I'm okay with just being 'more than friends'. And… " He floundered, feeling like he needed something more. "You're… not a complete idiot. You're really important to me…"

"…Thanks?"

"We should probably go to sleep soon," said Lukas quickly, ignoring the nation's confused gratitude. "It will take too long to put all the sheets back on the bed, so I suggest we just sleep in here."

"Okay. That works for me." Mathias said, something about the tone of his voice making Lukas suspect that he was talking about something more than just the sleeping arrangements.

It didn't take them long to get comfortable, since most of the floor was covered with pillows already. There were plenty of blankets to cover themselves with, too, so there was no chance of them getting cold. They lay side by side, turned onto their sides and facing opposite directions. Yet somehow, they were still close, still connected enough to feel the heat from each others' bodies and hear the sound of their breath. Lukas waited until he heard the other man's breathing become slow and steady, and then sat up quietly, turning over to look at his sleeping face.

He could lean in, he thought. He could lean in and no one would know. Slowly, gently, he bowed forward, putting his face close to the Dane's sleeping one, and brushed his lips against the corner of his mouth. It was barely any sort of kiss, really, but it was a kiss all the same. Lukas pulled back right away to watch him for a little while before laying back down and drifting off to sleep.

He didn't see the small, warm smile Mathias wore then, didn't see him turn his head slightly towards him, craning, didn't hear him whisper "_Godnat_" before laying his head on the pillow once more, falling asleep with the smile still resting on his lips.


End file.
